


Shift Focus

by polche



Series: Everyone Deserves a Second Chance [3]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, old men discovering each other for the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 11:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13270965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polche/pseuds/polche
Summary: Both Yuan and Kratos are weakened from the mana transfer, leaving them in no state to help out when Mithos steals a body to resume his rampage and destroys the Tower in the process. The grove around Origin’s Seal is shielded by his power, so Lloyd agrees to let Yuan and Kratos recuperate there while he and his friends do what they can to save the elves from the falling debris.





	Shift Focus

Both Yuan and Kratos are weakened from the mana transfer, leaving them in no state to help out when Mithos steals a body to resume his rampage and destroys the Tower in the process. The grove around Origin’s Seal is shielded by his power, so Lloyd agrees to let Yuan and Kratos recuperate there while he and his friends do what they can to save the elves from the falling debris.

Yuan kneels in front of Origin’s seal with Kratos in his shaking arms for as long as it takes Lloyd and his retinue to leave his earshot, at which point he submits to his body’s exhaustion and collapses onto the ground, one arm still under Kratos to cushion his fall. He lies there, breathing heavily as he waits for his mana to return to a manageable level, and he’s grateful that Origin’s presence keeps the monsters as bay, because in this state they might actually get the better of him. If he hadn’t been an angel, he might have choked on the dust and grass he inhales as he lies there; as it is it’s merely unpleasant.

It’s silent save for the sounds of disturbed forest wildlife and both men’s gulps of air. It’s that quiet for a long time, long enough for the sun to move directly overhead and cast a nasty glare right onto Yuan’s face that he’s too weak and tired to move. The best he can do is close his eyes and focus on the rise and fall of Kratos’ chest, ignore everything but the proof that he’s alive, that he didn’t fail this time.

Eventually, “That was reckless,” Kratos mumbles, inches from his ear, now that Lloyd can’t hear him anymore.

Yuan groans. “I couldn’t just let you kill yourself,” he mumbles back low into the earth, still slightly breathless from the strain.

“You were... only too eager to do it yourself, not too long ago...” Kratos retorts with a small grunt of pain, reminding Yuan of the disaster at Hima where he managed only to get himself injured and lose Martel’s final keepsake. “What changed?”

Yuan cracks open an eyelid with the intent of glaring at Kratos, but he still doesn’t have the energy and the sunlight is still too bright and shining right in his face, so he gives up on another foolish plan. Kratos is too close anyway. “You know damn well what’s changed,” he grumbles.

What hasn’t changed? Yuan lost everything. His best laid plans have either failed or been foiled; his closest comrade and confidant sacrificed himself as a pawn in a particularly cruel game of chess; his very way of thinking was proven almost as corrupted as that of the one he was trying to stop.

That boy of his, wielding his love for the people of these worlds - all of them - like a blade. Like seeing Mithos in his glory days all over again. Terrifying. Irresistible. A stark, painful reminder of just how few people he still has left.

“I can’t lose you, too,” he utters hoarsely, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. With his mana reserves depleted it shouldn’t be surprising to find he can’t control it as well as he’s used to.

“Yuan...” only the slightest hint of bassy voice sounds through in Kratos’ whisper, a sign he may not have intended to speak at all. He utters a grunt of exertion, not unlike when they’d be woken before dawn by officers of one sort or another and told to leave or face consequences. If they were given a choice at all.

Kratos’s breath stalls, the muscles under Yuan’s arm strain, shuddering as Kratos struggles to maintain the tension necessary to, what, rise up?

Yuan struggles to raise himself up as Kratos shifts, to get out of that obnoxious sun glare to give the man a scowl, to tell him not to overexert himself so soon. His own arm buckles under his weight, but he manages.

“Kratos,” he warns, pacifies, ready to start a lecture when Kratos’s gloves hand limply slaps against his cheek before it comes to rest in the crook of his neck.   


“I’m sorry,” Kratos says. His eyebrows are drawn low and close over shadowed eyes, even his eternal skin no match for the deep grooves his emotions etch in his forehead. From as close as he is, Yuan can see shimmers of moisture in his eyes. “I’m sorry...” Kratos says again, a slight shudder in his voice.

Yuan can’t have Kratos start crying now. The rapid destruction of all the walls built around themselves, between each other, now that they’re finally firmly on the same side again is too much for him to handle, and if Kratos lets himself break, Yuan won’t be able to keep it together anymore, either. So when Kratos takes his next deep, shaky breath, opens his mouth to give another unnecessary apology, Yuan shuts him up by placing his own mouth over it.

He realizes what he’s done almost immediately and jerks back, shocked to find Kratos’ lips following his as if on reflex. They collide again, Kratos’ hand curling into a loose fist around Yuan’s ponytail, and Yuan can’t find it in him to fight whatever this is anymore.

He lowers himself down, leaning on his elbow so he can push himself flush against his old companion without crushing him in his weakness. While his mouth eagerly answers Kratos’ questing, he slides his free hand up and down Kratos’ side, exploring the tight, sinewy muscle under his clothes. He’s always been the lean kind of toned, but Yuan gets the idea he’s been pushing himself too hard the past couple of years to cut this figure out for himself. Not that Yuan can blame him; if anything, he understands all too well.

Yuan rejects those thoughts, focusing only on the feeling of Kratos’ slick, chapped lips on his; their entwined tongues; the light pull from the weight of Kratos’ hand wrapped in his hair and how it sends tremors down his spine every time they shift; the sinful noises escaping both their throats. He tries not to pay attention to the stuffy, metallic smell that hounds them like their past mistakes.

Suddenly, Kratos yanks on Yuan’s ponytail as he lets out a pained gasp, and Yuan jerks his head back, choking back a similar noise. His eyes are immediately on Kratos, searching for the cause. Other than still looking exhausted, more than a little breathless and flushed from the exertion, he seems unharmed.

“I’m fine, Yuan,” Kratos says before Yuan gets a chance to ask. “Just a twinge. ...Are you?”

His features have smoothed out slightly, but his brow is still drawn and there’s worry in his eyes. Only when Kratos puts his hand back on Yuan’s face to wipe away a fallen tear does Yuan understand why.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Yuan scrambles to his knees and sits down. He brushes off his clothes, cloak and face so he can once again play the picture of composure. “That was just a little… unexpected,” he admits.

A low rumble of agreement leaves Kratos’ throat. He makes no attempt to move.

Yuan takes the time then to retie his ponytail, not just because it’s necessary to look proper, but to soothe himself, a habit from long ago. In the silence that follows, it hits Yuan just exactly what he’s been doing. Rolling around on the ground, in a holy place, with a man he tried to kill. His shame returns to him and colors his cheeks. A man who only mere months ago learned what happened to his beloved and their son. Yuan raises his palm to cover his face, a pitiful attempt at hiding his disgust and disappointment with himself.

“I must apologize. I don’t know what came over me,” he says in his steadiest voice. “I shouldn’t have done that,” just escapes.

Kratos rumbles again. “Joie de vivre...?” he mumbles, drawing on a language centuries dead. “You’ve always been passionate.”

Yuan scoffs. He feels his passion has always been half-assed. His fire for things extinguished over minor setbacks. He’s switched sides when it suited him better, he’s given up on every leader he’s ever followed and every lover he’s ever loved. Most of them he’s sent to their deaths by his own hand. He shakes his head. “Hardly.” He presses his palm tight over his mouth, as if to will his mistakes undone. To him, passion is found in those he betrayed for, and betrayed in turn. In that magnificent, peerless woman who sacrificed herself for the world and in that brilliant, terrifying boy who sacrificed the world for her. Maybe he doesn’t want to be passionate.

“If you’re comparing yourself to them... Don’t. No one can compare,” Kratos says, somehow managing to strike the heart of it. “I know how long you wore her ring.”

“...On a chain around my neck for the last...” Yuan doesn’t even know how many years it’s been.

Finally, Kratos rolls onto his side and slowly sits up, leaning heavily on his arms for support. After some moments to catch his breath, he rises to his feet, swaying only slightly as he takes the few steps towards Yuan to sit back down beside him.

“It’s been a long time.”

Lifetimes.

Yuan nods.

Kratos places his hand on Yuan’s leg, and Yuan jumps internally at the contact, but it’s close enough to his knee to be safe. Kratos doesn’t mean anything by it. Through their journeys they’ve had much more intimate contact that hasn’t meant a thing. Getting drenched to the bone and huddling together with little more than scraps to cover them so they wouldn’t freeze while their clothes dried near a fire; stripped, sweaty and exhausted in a close pile, taking advantage of a tiny spot of shade in their trek through the desert; carrying one another to their inn room after finally managing to save enough money for a night of drinking and falling asleep in the same cot. Of course, at the time he’d only seen Martel. Now, Kratos’ palm burns on his thigh.

“Come, I’m well enough to walk, with some assistance,” Kratos says, and Yuan snaps back to reality, a little surprised his quiet panic took so little time. “We should see how they’re doing.”

“Yes,” Yuan says, attempting to emotionally distance himself from everything that just happened as he rushes to his feet and helps Kratos up on his as well. “They’ll need help getting back up there as well.”

One final rumble escapes from deep within Kratos’ chest and he puts his arm around Yuan’s shoulder so they can leave the protection of Origin’s grove.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had _intended_ for this to be a one shot but there's a bunch of things I still want to add that I felt would have made this rushed so... Who knows, there might be more to come. Like these grandpas talking about wtf just happened and what about their late girlfriends and all that. I really wanted to put that in here, but it would have just been too fast. Way too fast.
> 
> For all that Yuan acts like a stick in the mud, I think he's got a burning heart. Not as much as Mithos, but then Mithos' fire is completely out of control. Meanwhile Kratos is someone who is warm, but has intense difficulty showing it. I think it's possible that Yuan also has some difficulty showing his less regimented side because of everything that happened, like the kind of world he grew up in, and obviously the whole mess with Mithos. That's also something I would have liked to explore a little more maybe, but, also, wouldn't have been right.
> 
> Honestly I'm not entirely sure I captured their characters completely accurately, but I'm close enough to be happy. This is one of those things I feel I could use a beta for but... a beta? In this economy? Haha....


End file.
